Bell Spire
by Bren Cain
Summary: Thera knows nothing of her ancestory, her father died before she was born and her mother died only a few years ago. She holds onto a small fortune that was left to her by her mother and a small engraved hammer and a sliver of parcment with an unknown lan
1. Black Night

Terrible winds whipped around the buildings of the city of Keirmer, they howled and they

pushed but worst of all they foretold the coming of something dark and evil. The darkness of evening that normally only seemed to be a veil over the city seemed to be a smothering hand of blackness this night, the blackness eating up every corner devouring any shimmer of a distant torch or candle. It was black and windy, like the dark breath of death upon the city.

At the window she could only see three buildings opposite of the shop that she lived above. Typically, she'd be able to see the entire block from her third floor living area, the pitched and shingled roofs, the stone chimneys, sometimes she could see inside some of the windows, watching the families settle in for the night.

She left her window, the one source of sunshine in her small one floor home. The window was set into the middle of the wall facing the north, being a half circle it fit just right with the pitch of the roof. She had lined shelves across the window, placing a few pots on them, some herbs for her tea, seasoning for her meals and to help ward off illnesses or infection. She had a few miscellaneous items scattered about on the shelves, for looks more than anything, but the one thing she went to every day was a jewelry box.

This wasn't any ordinary jewelry box, it wasn't wood, it wasn't metal, it was glass. Made by her father, when he was courting her mother, it was small and fragile but the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, even to this day. The box was clear glass, rectangular in shape with four feet that swept down in the form of curling vines. The lid of box was the only area of the jewelry box that held any color. Green ivy curled and bordered the lid, like a frame, in the center was a heart so red it was almost purple, flames erupted from this heart, curling and spiraling delicately on the lid. The details of this box were etched in silver bands, giving everything little outlines and details but it was so delicately done that one would barely notice unless they took a closer inspection. A green velvet lining protected the bottom of the box, so as not to scratch the fragile glass.

Two very peculiar items lay protected within this glass safe box. The first being a dainty hammer the length of ones hand, being made of fine silver, engraved with tiny designs. The second being a piece of very old, brown parchment, curled and torn at the edges, rolled and tied in the middle with a black ribbon. The contents were a language that she did not know and her mother never revealed to her before she died.

The three things left to her from her mother of her heritage lay in a glass box, in the open, the most over looked place to common lookers. She went to the transparent keeper and opened it once a day to glance at it's contents, pondering what each meant, where they came from and why. Never having the answer every day, she went about her normal business returning to it the next day, repeating the same process day after day after unanswered day.

Around her neck, strung on a thin rope of silver, were the wedding bands of her parents, the only thing, besides herself, left of a union of two people in love.

The fire was slowly dying, it wasn't particularly cold this early spring night, it was more the light of the fire she desired above warmth. Two more logs were placed into the stone fire place.

She seated herself in the old wooden rocking chair, curling her feet off to the side, tucking them into the folds of her long, thick, white cotton night dress. She pulled the knitted, cream colored blanket over her shoulders, staring into the renewing light of the fire.

She could remember as a very small child sitting by this fire, playing with one of her cloth dolls, her mother, sitting in the exact same rocker knitting the blanket that she had wrapped around her shoulders. She remembered looking up at her mother, her long dark hair loose, spilling over her shoulders like a shroud. She would often sing or hum to herself as she knitted in the evenings, recalling those memories was sweet sadness. She missed her mother terribly, even now, after she'd been dead for eight years.

The light being emitted from the growing fire cast long shadow across her room.

To her left, her bed was rumpled, it's sheets, pillows and blankets pulled back from where she was once sleeping. The thick green curtains that surrounded her bed were pulled off and tied to the bottom, left end of the bed; with the warmer days there was no need to keep the bed curtains drawn at night.

Hidden still in the shadows, still left of the bed lay the wardrobe that her mother had paid to have the local carpenters put in. They were large for just one person, but good for two, something her mother was anticipating but was not alive long enough to fill with her and her growing daughters wardrobe. The carpenters made the wardrobe well, nailed into the wall so they would never fall, was L shaped, it was full of drawers and rods to place clothing, which she had enough of. In front of the wardrobe was a round rug, woven from thick wool, it was hues of pinks, yellows, greens and blues, her first real purchase on her own.

Behind her, hidden from sight, but not from mind, was where her cupboard and cutting table lay. Bread, jams, tea, glasses, plate, knives, eating utensils and objects of that nature were kept in the cupboard, connected to the cupboard was a long wooden counter of sorts, where she prepared her food and tea, a general work space. Behind that was her water spout, something that her mother also paid to have put in. Next to the spout was the wooden bathing tub, with it's curtain drawn up, hidden from everyday sight.

Her round table, the only thing that was close to the window, was already in this third story flat when her and her mother moved in. Of course now it was covered with a red checkered table cloth, which sat her ivory colored tea pot with red hand painted flowers, a gift from Madam Derra for Winter Solstice. Four simple chairs circled around the table, each covered in a red checkered cushion to match the table cloth.

She liked her little home, it wasn't big at all, it fit everything she needed it to, and it was cozy in the winter and caught a lovely breeze in the summer, it was home, the only one she could remember.

Under her carpet by the bed, below the loose floor board lay her fortune, her payment work from Madam Derra, the favors that she would do for some of her neighbors and the rather substantial amount of money that her mother left was enough to buy her own house in the city with a plot of land surrounding it, enough to start up her own business and enough to furnish her town home. _'My darling baby, hide yourself amongst the good people of this city, become one of them, there may someday come a time when strangers will come looking for you. If you are one of the city folk, they shall never find you, live a quiet life'_...she could hear her mother tell her this even now, in her memories as her mother lay only a few days away from her death.

With the slow rocking of her chair, Aila felt her tension disappear and her weariness of a long day return. With the heaviness in her eyelids, she threw the cream colored blanket over the back of the chair and returned to her awaiting bed. She pulled the heavy covers over her, as her head hit the pillow she was already asleep and dreaming.

Past the snow covered mountain ridges, past the Caldadrian Lake, threw the Alcotorin Forest, over the plains of Shodalond, beyond the Marshes of the Derra'leigh and the bordering land of Cherriktill covered with nothing but rocks, sand, and liquid rock in the dessert of Wyndaza, upon the most unnatural range of tall lifeless mountains lays the Bell of Eganwight.

Beneath the bell, in a tomb, lay a bodiless evil, awakening from hundreds of years of slumber, it's blackened arms ready to strangle and destroy, it mouths ready to devour life, its eyes waiting to behold the death it will deliver unto its many victims.


	2. Dark Rider

Early morning rays from the sun warmed her bed, making her too hot, kicking the covers from her body, all of this movement told her brain that it must be morning, to get up.

She yawned, stretched her limbs, blinked the sleepiness from her eyes and untangled herself from her many sheets, blankets and even her own bed cloths.

Making her bed, having her breakfast of a large sweet roll and two cups of hot tea were done within the first hour of her waking. Knowing that Madam Carisa would be arriving late in the day, due to the enormous size in which she had grown with her pregnancy, she would have to open the store by herself.

It was still windy from the previous night and the chill of winter had still not left the earth, she would have to wear something that would keep her warm.

In the end she wore a dark green dress with snug mid length sleeves a high waist with a dark cream accent color bordering the square low cut front and the cuffs of the sleeves. The rings she wore about her neck were nestled in the cleavage of her, what she though overly plump, breasts. The long mirror that hung at the end of the wardrobe by the door is where she brushed her terribly long, thick, curly pitch-black hair. It took some time to brush out all of the knots and unevenness in her hair, when she was done her dark curls had formed a dark halo about her, reaching to her lower back. She knew that by the end of the day she would have a full head of massive unkempt curls.

Her complexion was slightly darker than those of the common city folk, not uncommon, but a little more exotic than the norm. Madam Carisa called it an 'olive' complexion, whatever that was. It was a naturally darker complexion, sort of like when one spends too much time in the sun but hers was always this color. Madam Carisa said that her complexion was lovely for the color of her eyes and hair, both of which were black. _'Child, if you only had royal blood, you'd be the center of all of those noble men and the object of jealousy to every blue blooded woman in the court.' _Madam Carisa had told her that once, only a year back, while Madam Carisa was helping her alter some of her dresses after she grew in a few places.

Knowing that the large iron key in her pocket was the only thing to open the lock on her door, she headed down two flights of wooden stairs to the bottom floor of the shop. A solitary white painted door with an oval glass window was the only entrance and exit out of the building. Above the door, like most shops, was a large beautifully painted sign that read, "Seamstress Carisa", a sensible name, something that anyone looking for a seamstress could find. The sign had a painted measuring rope and needles on it, very well done and mostly weather proof.

The dead leaves that once hid under the snow were now strewn about the front walk and even the cobble stone street that the shop resided, she's have to find the broom to sweep those away.

Inside of the shop, after unlocking the door and entering with the dinging of the over head door bell, she opened the blue curtains, tying them back to let the sun in and starting a two log fire to take away the remaining night chill.

Today was the day that the display dresses would be changed from heavier clothing to lighter, more colorful, season appropriate attire. This would give her a chance to display some of her more recent work; the dark rose colored, crushed velvet gown with creamy brown satin trim around the neckline and wrists, the golden honey brown satin gown with a paler honey colored flowered pattern barely visible until in the light and the delicate beading that she sewed onto the folded neckline that fell off of the shoulders, and her favorite, the multi-toned striped green skirt with the dark green, long sleeved bodice that she embroidered silver vines all about the hems to. Madam Carisa said that this dress was very bold and might be too dramatic for some of the ladies but trusted that someone would indeed by it.

The changing of the current fashions would have to wait until the front stoop was cleared of the leaves; this at least would let her see the other shop owners open, the ones who had homes away from their shops.

She took her time sweeping, enjoying the birds singing, they had come back from their winter journey only a short while ago and their songs made her happy. The few trees that were between each building were budding, either with new leaves or flowers. The first of the flowers were starting to poke threw the ground, still only just a lump of green protruding from the earth but it was only a short time away until the bright reds and yellows smiled at her.

Cobbler Myden was soon opening his door, he waved at her before he disappeared into his shop. He was a pleasant and good-humored man, slightly older than middle age; his son would soon be arriving to work on the days shoes with his father. Madam Carisa dealt with these two cobblers on a regular basis. More often than not, they would go hand in hand with creations. He would come to her with a pair of shoes and ask to have something made to match that could be sold with them, a handbag, a bodice or a coat. Madam Carisa would also buy fabric to have a dress made and give Myden a large portion for shoes. The two were often planning on how to sell each others products; Thera thought that before long, the two would simply merge. It would only make sense but it was not her place to point out such things.

Across the cobbled street was the glass blowers shop, he and his wife lived above his shop. These two were young, only a few years older than Thera herself. He had purchased the shop off of the original owner to whom he was apprenticed to for years. The older man had lost his only son and wife to a terrible sickness, having no heir to take over the company he was more than willing to have someone buy it and run it. It wasn't uncommon to see the elderly gentlemen come by for a visit, the wife would always come to the shop door to greet him, kissing him tenderly on the cheek and ushering him threw the front doors, as if he didn't know his own way in.

Next to the glass blowers shop was the sisters bakery. These two Thera found amusing; they were both terrible gossips and both terribly plump. _'Don't breath a word of anything to them you don't want the entire city to know'_, Madam Carisa had told her sternly, it only took one telling. They were both unmarried, not to say that they did not have suitors, it was just that they had not chose to settle on one man. _'How those two can carry on like that without being burned it beyond me, it is so unlady like'_ Madam Carisa said to her one afternoon after a brief visit from the short, blond, round, rosy-cheeked sisters.

Soon, the barking from the jewelers shop alerted her that Master Galian had opened. Galian was a younger man, older than herself but younger than Madam Carisa, he was unmarried but terribly attractive. He kept six very large guard dogs in his shop overnight, to protect his goods. These dogs would attack and kill anyone that was not their master, on several occasions they had adverted theft and had actually mauled a thief almost to death only two winters back. Thera often thought of Galian in a romantic way, he was terribly charismatic, always handing out complements, always smiling, always laughing, he was intelligent, obviously talented and very well dressed, not to mention deep pockets.

Galian was often over after hours to look at the newest fabrics for an update to his extensive wardrobe, always picking out the most expensive, the most exotic and the most luxurious. He always wore his goods _'good marketing' _he told her, indeed it was. Although, there was something peculiar about him, something that she just couldn't put her finger on. He was so well kempt, so well dressed, so well groomed and so handsome, with his blue eyes and golden hair and doing well in his life but why hadn't he a wife? He was always in the company of women, either as friends or as clients and yet he was not courting any of these ladies? The baker sisters had said that a male cousin lived with him, another handsome man, to be sure, yet they said that they bore no resemblance, maybe a distant cousin? She merely shrugged it off, this was none of her concern really but one had to wonder.

The stoop was soon clear of debris of the nights windstorm, she put the broom away in the cupboard and began to change the wooden mannequins in the window from their winter wear to their cooler spring wear.

She hung each garment carefully on a hanger to be hung upstairs, in the storage area, where they will be kept safe and clean until next year.

As she began to arrange the first garment up she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, outside the window. It was Madam Carisa, her arms full of canvas bags, most likely supplies from the other shopkeepers, some new trim or beads to adorn the neckline or hem of future wears.

The once shapely Madam Carisa was now grossly enlarged in the midsection from her pregnancy. Her dark blond hair was braided and coiled about her head, her cheeks rosy from the brisk walk in the cool air, she hadn't even made the full way across the street when all of her arms burden spilled onto the stones.

Thera immediately dropped her work, pulled her skirts up and jogged to the fallen merchandise.

"Oh, curse this burden of mine, I wish it would hurry and leave my body so I may carry on like a normal woman!" Madam Carisa huffed as she knelt on the street to try and gather all that she could.

Thera grabbed the canvas bags and tried to shove all that she could into them, for her ears told her that there were travelers approaching fast.

"Surely they'll stop or move around us," Carisa whispered anxiously, as she glanced nervously over her shoulder to the approaching clatter.

Thousands of tiny, precious, multi-colored, glass beads lay between the cracks of the stones, these were lost, there was a bag of fresh rolls and a few glass jars of preserves within arms reach, several small triangular shaped items wrapped in waxed cloth (which she guessed to be cheese), a few bolts of fabric and Madam Carisa's knitting things, for her baby and other miscellaneous items.

The sound of shoed horse hooves were dangerously close, Thera dared a look and was shocked to see what looked like a herd of giant black horses charging directly for them with no signs of moving, slowing or even stopping.

"Hurry, girl, hurry," Madam Carisa's voice shook even as she continued to haphazardly throw items into her canvas bag.

The sound soon began to flood her senses and just at the last possible moment, she felt a pair of arms grab her from behind and yank her off of the road, she watched in disbelief as a dozen, very large, pitch black horses trampeling everything that the two women couldn't put into the bags.

Two pairs of horses with rider garbed in crimson and black lead the way and tailed a glossy black carriage, with crimson curtains and a driver in all black with his cowl drawn up to hide his face. This party unsympathetically crushed what was left of Madam Carisa's burden.

Tiny glass beads shattered, cheese smeared across the stone, beautiful silky fabrics ripped and stained with horseshoe prints, jars of preserves and random wrappings now lay ruined in the wake of the entourage.

Thera watched in disgust as the carriage and it crew disappeared from sight.

"You should be more careful, girl, if I wouldn'a grabbed ya when I did, you'd be layin' in with the rest of the damaged goods."

Thera, startled by the voice because she had almost forgotten that she had been pulled out of the road, turned to see Cobbler Myden.

"Are ya alright, missy? Nothin' harmed when I yanked ya outa the way?" He asked kindly, his lined face showing concerns.

She patted herself gently, checking for any bruises or such, doubting that she'd find any, "No, sir, only my hopes of salvaging the goods is damaged, thank you."

He nodded, "Tis best to check on your Mistress."

She spun to see Carisa on the other side of the street in the company of the young glass blower and his wife; Carisa seemed to have managed to salvage on full sack of goods, just as she herself had.

Thera gathered her skirts in one hand and rushed across the street to her Mistress, followed by the cobbler.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine, dear, only upset that those things are now ruined and I have to repurchase them. Who would have such a gull to drive threw here at such a reckless speed? Could they not see us?" The blond haired woman gestured angrily toward the direction that the carriage had disappeared to.

"I'm sure they did, Carisa, but whether they cared or not is another matter." The young glass blowers wife said.

"My goodness! What just happened?"

The twins, Flavia and Dorene, wiping their hands on their aprons, already covered with flower and bits of dough joined the small group of shopkeepers.

"My clumsiness almost got us squashed upon the road, that is what," Carisa absent mindedly brushed the lose, floating hair out of her face, it seems to have escaped from her braids in the attempt to save her items.

"Myden and myself had to pull these two ladies off of the street before those horses splattered them like those preserves there," The glassblower told the twins.

"Did they not see you?" Asked the other twin, with them dressed alike it was hard to distinguish between the two.

"No, they surely did but that didn'a seem to slow 'em," Myden answered.

"How absurd! Who would do such a thing?" The short blond twin questioned outraged.

"Someone in a rush, obviously," Melios told them.

Carisa sighed, "We should take what we have left and take it to the shop, Thera, you should see if you can clean some of this mess up so it will not damage any stead or a passerby."

Myden took the bags out of the two women's hands, "Le' me carry these for ya, no need to repeat what just happened."

"Don't worry about the mess Madam Carisa," Melios spoke up, "I'll look after it, no need for you to worry about it, Thera can spend that time tending to you and fetching what you lost."

Carisa's big blue eyes glassed over, "You are all so kind, thank you."

"We'll have a fresh batch of rolls for you in just a few minutes, dear, free of charge," the one blond smiled at her.

"Thera you come over when you get Miss Carisa settled in," the other blond finished.

Thera draped her arm gently across Carisa's shoulders to usher her carefully across the stone street, "I'll fetch the things that we lost, Mistress, don't you worry, don't go getting yourself worked up, you've got enough on your mind with the coming child and the spring orders," she patted her gently on the arm, "I'll make you a cup of tea."


End file.
